


Darkly Dawns The...Huh?

by CannedTins



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 2018), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: (but not nsfw), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Delusions, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt No Comfort, Jim Has Issues, Jim Starling needs a hug, Medical Conditions, Mental Breakdown, Public Nudity, Vomiting, brief police brutality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannedTins/pseuds/CannedTins
Summary: You thought you were Darkwing Duck?(I'm terrible at summaries I'm sorry)





	Darkly Dawns The...Huh?

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those things that started off as a joke and then became something quite dark. Please heed the warnings in the tags (Alcoholism, hospitalizations, delusions, vomiting, etc)

The city was at a standstill, which was rather unusual given its violent reputation. Darkwing Duck knew something had to be up; St. Canard was a city that never slept, never stalled into such suspicious silence. 

By all means, the lights should still be on, and vehicles ferrying exhausted drivers should still be zooming past. 

But, no, it was blanketed by a covering of blackness and quiet.

Darkwing turned a corner in the alley, expecting a supervillain such as Megavolt to pop out at any time. He gripped his gas gun tightly, and popped in a new canister. Sleeping gas always worked wonders. 

Silence was broken by a soft scuttling; tiny footsteps that were just barely in earshot of Darkwing. He held his breath and pointed the gun in front, gritting his teeth. No need to say anything until the enemy came into view. 

Had to keep that mysterious facade.

He stepped forward, exhaling softly, squinting his eyes to try and get a better look at whatever was inside the alleys. 

There was actually not much save for dumpster bins and assorted litter. The noise had gone; all was quiet yet again. The only thing Darkwing could hear was his own heartbeat, the pace quickening as the wind blew. Strangely, he didn’t feel cold.

Turning his head back, he could see the lights of the city, the buildings closed for the night, and a distinct lack of suspicious activity happening.

But that, to Darkwing, was exactly what made all of this so suspicious. Why wasn’t anybody out to get him? Why was there nobody to give him the attention he wanted? Darkwing felt uneasy. He normally didn’t get ignored. 

Almost never.

“Hello?!” He finally called out, his voice piercing the silence that enveloped the city, “Anybody home? It’s me!”

Nothing. Not even an echo. 

Darkwing put the gas gun back in his holster and hopped on his Ratcatcher, trying to turn on the ignition. It didn’t work, he had run out of gasoline. Kicking the motorcycle tire out of frustration, he then threw down his hat, muttering swears and pacing back and forth. 

Nothing seemed to be in his favor tonight.

But, he couldn’t give up. Darkwing Duck never gave up. Dusting his hat off and placing it back on, he walked onwards to the edge of the city, maybe there would be  _ something _ there. He’d have killed for a petty criminal to jump him from behind or whatever. He needed that thrill. 

He felt like rocks had been stuffed into his pockets and were weighing him down considerably. Looking through his jacket and turtleneck, he found nothing that could have made him any heavier than usual. Wondering if it was the work of an enemy, he whipped out his gun and pointing it ahead.

This time he spoke, “Who is there?! Show yourself!”.

Nobody came out into the lights, not a single villain stepped out from an alley with their arms up and ready to surrender. Darkwing sighed, now wondering if everybody was ignoring him on purpose. He couldn’t just knock on somebody’s door, much less break into their house, that was decidedly unheroic, but...he was feeling desperate for attention, he knew if he had to get dangerous, then so be it. The city held several apartment complexes and condos, perfect for finding anybody who may be in need of help---or was a villain.

That’s what he wanted to do, he wanted to  _ fight _ .

He headed towards the nearest apartment complex, a drab and towering gray stain against the sky. Just an apartment to add to the hundreds of others in the city. But who knows? Somebody could be inside, waiting for Darkwing Duck. Re-adjusting his hat, he breathed in deeply, preparing for whatever was to come.

Darkwing tip-toed up the steps to the front door, looking through the glass doors to see what was inside. He couldn’t make out much besides part of the reception desk, it was pitch-black otherwise. The knob rattled and the doors refused to budge, so Darkwing decided he needed to find another way inside. Though the windows?

He could try.

“Let’s get dangerous,” He smirked.

Reaching over to the windows, he saw if he could just easily break the glass and crawl through, never mind the resulting injuries that would arise from broken glass.

Taking out his gas gun, Darkwing hacked away at the window with the barrel of the gun, flinching as glass shattered and flew in every direction. He could now see better inside the lobby building, with its drab sofas, reception desk, and dying decorative daffodils. Grumbling, Darkwing made sure to mind his sensitive parts as he climbed over the window and rolled inside, landing in the building. To his satisfaction, he emerged mostly unscathed and continued walking into the corridors.

Still nobody around, still not a sound. He looked to the elevators, pressing the buttons and when it made no response, pressed it again, hammering the buttons with his fist.

Nothing. 

Did  _ anything _ work here? 

Darkwing rolled his eyes. Nothing seemed to be going well for him tonight. Surely there had to be someone or something waiting for him. 

Pressing an ear to one of the apartment doors, he listened. 

Quiet. 

But Darkwing wasn’t going to be fooled if there was a villain in hiding. He crouched down to the bottom of the door and slid his gas gun out, watching through the gap between the floor and the door. 

If any shadow moved, if any noise was made, if anything stirred at all, he’d fire.

He waited. And waited. It didn’t take long for him to get impatient. He kicked at the door and fired the gas gun at it, which was one gas container wasted. Moving on, he stumbled deeper into the corridors, starting to grow tired.

He wondered if he had chosen a bad night to be a vigilante.

Heading back to the lobby, Darkwing debated if he could open the front doors from the inside, or just break them open like he did with the window. He preferred the latter, it sounded more exciting and he needed some of that adrenaline after a relatively uneventful night. Glancing outside the doors for a second, he still saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Darkwing braced himself for impact as he went back several steps, then charged.

He’d expected to shatter the glass like with the window, but instead, his body slammed into the door violently and left what would be a multitude of bruises. Getting back up, he winced but did not leave his gaze off the door, trying to charge one more time.

Slam.

He groaned. If he kept pulling that stunt, he’d eventually break a bone.

Slumping down the floor, he took a breather and looked up at the ceiling. The window would be his only other option, then. Stumbling back up, he struggled to climb out of the window, falling though it and landing on the sidewalk. Lifting himself up, he held onto his arm and shook his head.

He heard something.

There were noises, several chatters and beeps and more, sounds and lights congregating together, coming from close to the center of the city. 

Darkwing’s heart leaped with excitement as he ran closer to the source of the sounds, slipping on a puddle along the way then getting back up and stumbling towards the source. He could see the figures from the corner of his eye, moving about quickly, black shadows against the bright lights.

Were they in need of help, or were they supervillains? Darkwing didn’t have time to decide which one, he had to act  _ now. _

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”

The figures all turned towards Darkwing’s voice, watching as he appeared out of smoke, standing on top of a car.

“I am the hangover that ruins your morning!” Darkwing announced, “I am Darkwing du--ugh!”

He was knocked back by one of the figures tackling him down to the ground, wrestling with him and pulling his arms back when he tried to reach for the gas gun. Delivering a roundhouse kick, he toppled the villain over and put them in a choke hold while trying to find his gas gun.

The others screamed, pulling out their own guns and other weapons to restrain the hero, who seemed unfazed by all the threats and simply grinned, “Let’s get dangerous!”

“Step down!” one of the other figures yelled, “Drop your gun!”

“No! You first!” Darkwing tightened the hold on his hostage, “Come and get me, you cowards!”

Another one of the enemies charged at him, trying to pull him away from his hostage, restraining his arms backwards tightly enough to nearly snap. Darkwing yelped, his feet kicking around in the dirt, trying to find their way up to kick the attackers. They came in closer and closer, blacker and blacker, all the noises finally dying out as Darkwing ran out of energy, breathing heavily.

A shock coursed through his body, brief but excruciating, electricity streaming all the way up to his head, and he fell back, dazed and unsure of what was going on anymore. Another shock, he screamed. His clothes seemed to disappear from him, dissolving, melting under his skin, his vision grew fuzzy and his breathing came in uneven gasps.

“Jim?!”

He heard something. Footsteps. Running. Calling a name. Whose name?

“Oh, dear goodness.”

Darkwing couldn’t see anything now, nothing but blackness, fuzziness in his vision. The voice rang out more and more. So familiar.

_____________________________________________

Morgana heard the police sirens from her home, cars zooming past with their bright lights and blaring. She had been asleep one second and awake the next. Still disoriented from the rude awakening, she quickly put on her robe and headed down the front steps, squinting to take a good look at wherever the cars were headed.

She hadn’t seen Jim in a while, assuming he was at home in his apartment. The show had been cancelled and as far as he was concerned, his life was over. There were times where she  _ did _ try to call him, but got nothing in the receiving end. She had every reason to worry about him and cursed herself for not checking on him more often.

That was why, when she saw the police cars and shouting, she thought it might have been Jim. He’d been...erratic ever since the show was cancelled.

In between all the shouts from the policemen was swearing, yelling and crying.

She could hear that  _ very familiar _ voice shout, “I am Darkwing Duck! I am Darkwing Duck!”

She bolted out of the front door, running towards the policemen, and cried, “Jim?!” 

Pushing the policemen out of the way, she saw her former partner pressed against the ground with his arms restrained. He was a complete mess, totally disheveled with bags under his reddened eyes, and above it all, he was naked.

“Oh, dear goodness,” Morgana sucked in breaths through her teeth, as they tased him not once, but twice.

A policeman pushed her away, commanding her to stay back from a “violent, potentially dangerous man”.

That ‘violent, potentially dangerous man’ was Jim Starling and he was a dear friend of hers. Furrowing her brows, she rolled her eyes. They  _ didn’t _ know what he’d been though, how much he’d suffered in life before  _ and _ after the show’s cancellation. 

He had definitely been in altercations with the police before and it was usually his fault, but she never thought ill of him despite that. She only blamed herself for the fact that she wasn’t around to keep Jim in a stable condition.

She watched as they stuffed the breathalyzer into his mouth despite his struggles, commanding him to blow into the device, and when they refused, had to use force. After a few seconds, they yanked the device out and read it, muttering something about ‘high BAC’ and ‘visibly delirious state’.

She knew what that meant. 

Pushing in between the police again, she pleaded for them to stop. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, and could hear his swearing and slurring her name out in-between slow gasp.

Jim had never been in full control of himself, and certainly wasn’t mentally stable. Therapy hardly worked. The alcoholism grew worse as time went on, worsening his delusions of grandeur. The last time they’d been together and he was drunk, he was convinced that Morgana was a witch and he, as Darkwing Duck, had to put a stop to her.

She sighed, finally letting go of Jim. A policeman took out a phone and spoke into it, he was calling emergency services---looks like Jim didn’t have to go to jail first. 

Morgana’s car was back at the garage, she could grab it and drive over to Audubon Bay hospital. Excusing herself, she raced back towards her home.

She waited until an ambulance came into view, strapping Jim onto the gurney and delivering him. As it drove off, she started the ignition and followed behind the ambulance. At the emergency room drop-off, she could see the EMTs wheeling him out. Stepping out of the car to follow them, she asked the nurse at the reception desk where Jim Starling was to be held. 

She wasn’t allowed to see him yet, she had to wait. So, 

It was late, very late, but she did not feel the slightest bit tired at the time; her friend potentially had a mental breakdown following excessive alcohol consumption, stripped naked and acted out enough that police were informed about the incident. 

She called to another nurse for answers, frantically wondering why he’d disappeared for days on end and was suddenly here, completely broken down and being delivered to the ER. The nurse attempted to calm her down, saying that he would explain everything and the doctors would do all in their ability to stabilize his condition. 

And so, the nurse looked over Jim’s report and sat with her, detailing what happened that night.

“It appeared that he, in his intoxication, started having delusions, that he was Darkwing Duck. From what I’ve been briefed on, he broke into an apartment complex though the window, loitered around the inside, slammed into the front door trying to escape. Apparently he also urinated inside. Then, he ran over to the policemen, shouting that he was Darkwing Duck, acting violent, and when tackled down, he proceeded to fight back, yelling swears at the police. He had to be tased.”

Morgana sighed, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She wanted to ask why things had to be so complicated between Jim and herself, why Jim had to be this way, but couldn’t formulate the right words to speak. The nurse suggested that she go get some rest, despite her nerves acting up.

She didn’t sleep for long, tossing around in her bed and worrying endlessly about Jim’s condition. In her mind’s eye, she could see his bewildered expression---a mix of anger and sadness. How she had noticed the dark circles around his bloodshot eyes and red flush from the alcohol. 

Was he not able to take care of himself at all? He seemed... _ okay _ back in college and during the show. He didn’t live as glamorously as he wished to, but he certainly wasn’t falling apart at the seams. He was happy during the show’s air time, even if exceedingly narcissistic and prone to violent outbursts.

At barely 6 AM, she woke up and swapped her nightgown for a simple hoodie and sweatpants. Breakfast was a single cookie and instant coffee. As she drove to the hospital, thoughts raced through her head, all kinds of questions about Jim, how he was doing, how he’d be doing in the future.

The nurse at the reception desk recognized her from last night, nodding at her and explaining Jim’s condition briefly. 

the news didn’t sound good, but at least he wasn’t  _ dead _ .

_____________________________________________

Rhythmic, steady beeping noises filled the hospital room. Jim’s eyes flickered open to see a blank white ceiling, with a small TV mounted to it, tilted down just enough that he could almost see his reflection in the screen. He was back  _ here _ again, it was like he lived in the hospital at this point. 

Groaning, he noticed the cannula that’d been stuffed up his nostrils, and the prick from the IV needle jabbed in the crook of his arm. Sighing, he put a hand to his forehead, gritting his teeth as a throbbing headache overtook him. It made him feel like banging his head against the wall or even putting a gun to his head. 

He knew what it was, and he hated it.

Why was he here? He deserved better than to be stuck in a little...hospital room, he guessed. He was  _ Jim Starling _ , he was Darkwing Duck, he deserved the respect, damn it. 

He couldn’t really remember what happened before he woke up in the hospital. Everything seemed so muddled to him, it only made him more irritable as he strained to remember. 

His head was not the only body part that ached, in fact, his entire body stung and squeezed with pain and fatigue he hadn’t thought previously possible.

The lights flickered on. Jim yelped, immediately covering his eyes with his arm and swearing under his breath. 

“I’m sorry,” a nurse walked in, carrying a tray with a cup of water and pills, “I nearly forgot. Here, you need water and painkillers, it’ll help you a little.”

Jim just stared at the nurse with a scowl, already feeling nauseous as he tried to lift himself up off the pillow. He took a deep breath, shakily going for a drink of water. So thirsty, he was  _ so  _ thirsty, like a desert too long starved of any moisture. He couldn’t bring himself to take the cup, instead letting his head fall back on the pillow and releasing an acidic burp. The nurse lifted his head up and allowed him to drink slowly out of the cup. He took the pill and gulped it down.

His satiation was unfortunately short-lived. Heart hammering in his chest, the pain came back in short bursts. Letting out a soft whimper, he placed a hand on his tender, aching stomach. The nurse excused herself, telling him if he had any concerns he should press a button to call.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Jim groaned, watching as the lights turned off, still feeling incredibly nauseous.

He found sleep hard to come by nowadays, being a chronic insomniac for some time already, and this day was no better for his attempts at rest. Last night came as only fuzzy, half-baked memories in his mind as he struggled to recall what happened to him, what he’d done that night that would send him to the hospital.

He debated calling for a nurse to explain everything to him, but the thought of actually moving around and pressing a button only further sickened him.

He stared at the faint reflection in the TV screen above-head, squinting to get a better look at himself, it was difficult to see, but he could tell that he was in terrible shape. Sighing, he wished to drift off into dreamland and be Darkwing Duck again. That was all he wanted. No more pain.

Darkwing Duck was bliss.

  
  


He awoke to a tightening sensation in his stomach, hurting with every breath he took in and making him feel tingly around the face. Swearing loudly, he lifted himself up from bed, already retching, prompting himself to slam that button before he could risk puking all over his bedsheet.

Too late.

As the nurse came rushing into the room, she was greeted with her wide-eyed patient shaking tremendously, having vomited all over the bed. Telling him not to worry, she headed back out to get some help, returning with another nurse carrying towels and water.

Jim was barely responsive as the nurses wiped the vomit off his mouth and replaced the sheet, urging him to take a few sips of water as well. 

The nurses opted to give him a shower, trying to rouse him back awake. Jim turned out to be extremely stubborn in his showering pursuits, wanting to be left alone and not to be touched by either nurse at all. Fearing that he could collapse or vomit again, the nurses stayed at the door and waited.

The shower area was large, with a section modified to support wheelchair users. Aside from the size, it was rather bland with white walls, floor, and ceiling. 

Nothing special.

However, there was also a mirror at the far end, where Jim could see for the first time just how badly he’d fallen into disrepair. 

He didn’t want to see how sallow his feathers had become or how his eyes were bloodshot and yellowed, with heavy, dark bags underneath. Turning the faucet on, he let cold water fall all over him, wetting his molted feathers.

Taking a handful of soap and scrubbing his body, he noticed how his bones were more pronounced, though his belly was distended from the large amounts of alcohol he’d ingested.

He looked at his own hands and swore at himself for letting things go this way, how he could just destroy himself like this, and how he hadn’t called Morgana at all for help---

Morgana. That’s right, he remembered it now. 

Sighing, he rinsed himself off and wrapped a towel around himself, avoiding taking a peek at the mirror. Now cold and wet, he shook violently, growing furious at the prospect of seeming weak in front of the nurses. Even when they told him it was okay and that no-one else could see, he curled himself up in bed and told them to leave him alone.

Jim really didn’t want anybody to gawk at him, much less touch him. It was odd, that coming from somebody who loved attention and fame so much, how he hated the way the nurses looked him up and down like they were inspecting a sick animal. He hated how their gazes seemed to pierce right into his heart. 

  
  


As his head cleared, he suddenly felt much more conscious about his body image, wishing he had the muscular Darkwing Duck physique he used to have, instead of inhabiting this withered shell..

He wasn’t left alone for too long when the door opened again. Groaning, he’d expected another nurse to come in, However...

Morgana.

She looked disheveled, had been crying, there were bags under her eyes. Had she been  _ that _ worried about him?

“Jim, what did you do?”

Jim blinked, “No ‘I’m sorry?’ No ‘how are you’, huh?”

Morgana shook her head, placing her own hand on his, repeating, “Please, tell me what you did. How much did you drink?”

Drink?

“I don’t...I don’t remember,” Jim narrowed his eyes, “Don’t remember. I remember you, through.”

Morgana took a seat and sighed, “Jim. The nurse told me what happened. You...they found you running in the streets naked, yelling that you were Darkwing Duck---”

“Stop!” Jim whined, “I wouldn’t do that! Not Jim Starling!”

“But, you did,” Morgana closed her eyes, “There’s a report and everything. They think you’ll need to be transferred to a psychiatric center.”

“Hmph.”

“I’m sorry, Jim. I really am. I wish I was there for you earlier.”

“Damn right,” Jim huffed under his breath, “Damn right you’re...”

He trailed off, tears starting to form in his eyes as Morgana suddenly hugged him, the shock of this physical contact freezing him up, so his body was left stiff and trembling as Morgana embraced him. His cheeks flushed at the thought that Morgana could feel his wasted frame, none of the muscles were there anymore.

She didn’t seem bothered by it, however, at least not terribly so.

He didn’t want to cry, yet he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. At least such a tender moment would be private, if Morgana ever spoke about this to anybody else, heads would roll.

“I saw you, Jim, I saw you be restrained by the police and everything. I was worried they’d hurt you more. They did say you had very high blood alcohol content.”

Jim thought about that, remembering that was how he’d acted last night. He was not of sound mind, and it was time to realize that---but he didn’t want to. An incredibly stubborn part of him wanted to keep going. No matter how horrible life could get or how depressed he got, he just couldn’t give up. 

Darkwing Duck never gave up.

No matter how much booze he drank or how many times he vomited or whatever, he just couldn’t give up on life.

Jim struggled to smile. He wanted to tell Morgana about  _ good _ things,  _ good  _ memories he had with her; the fun part of life, so to say. The smile did not last long, for a doctor walked into the room with a stern expression on his face and a clipboard in his hand. 

“Jim Starling?” The doctor cleared his throat.

“What is it? I’m trying to be intimate here.”

“Jim,” Morgana warned, then turned to the doctor, “Should I leave?”

“It would be advisable, yes.”

“Wh-how come?”

The doctor sighed, “It’s a doctor-patient confidentiality, it’s the rule. I’m sorry.”

Jim watched as Morgana left though the door, tearfully saying her goodbye and being escorted by a nurse.

“Mr. Starling,” The doctor took a seat, looking through his clipboard, “First, I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Mmhm.”

“When did you start drinking alcohol?”

Jim rolled his eyes, did it always have to be about the alcohol? He answered anyhow, “Since I was 14 or so. After Mama---I mean, my mother---left.” 

“How much have you drank since you were admitted here?”

“I don’t remember. Had to be a lot if I was running around naked and having hangovers this bad.”

“Have you felt any abdominal pain in the last few weeks?”

“Yes, actually. I guess.”

“I can see from your medical background that you suffer from several psychological illnesses, do you think this is what excarberated the drinking?”

“Ehh, just tell me what I got.”

“Liver disease caused by alcoholism, could develop into cirrhosis if not treated properly,” The doctor read through the report.

Jim was incredulous, “What?”

“I would say you are very close to that stage. But you  _ can _ heal from it if you take action as soon as possible.”

Jim scowled, gripping his bed sheet tightly, “No! No, no, no! Don’t you see, I’m fine! I’ll be fine!”

The doctor frowned, he was used to these sort of reactions from his patients, he knew they never reacted well to such diagnoses, even outright denying their illness. Jim in particular took the news very hard, his body frozen in shock.

“I’m sorry. However, there is hope. You can get help, I know you can.”

The doctor’s words never reached Jim’s ears. Instead, the duck felt a wave of nausea overcome him, and fainted.

_____________________________________________

Darkwing Duck stretched as he awoke in bed, looking up at the night sky. It was a full moon tonight, the black sky contrasted against a lovely white moon and twinkling stars.

One advantage to having a nocturnal sleep schedule was waking up to this beautiful sight, all the way up Darkwing Tower, at Audubon Bay Bridge. 

Getting up from his bed, he walked over the kitchen to prepare a quick breakfast, then dressed up in his trademark costume, readying himself for any adventure to come. Taking out a gas gun, he placed a gas canister inside, storing any extras in his pockets.

The air was cool and crisp, inviting him to look over the edge at the city lights. 

How beautiful they were.

Taking a pair of binoculars and climbing to the top of the tower, he scoured around the cityscape through the binoculars, waiting to see if there was any signal calling for his help. 

He loved the attention he got from saving lives and thwarting villains, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Being a sad slob rotting away in a dingy apartment, with beer bottles scattered all around him...he couldn't imagine that sort of life.

He was Darkwing Duck, daring and dangerous.


End file.
